


five times the team thought they lost you, and the one time they did.

by s1lverwren



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, angst again because it's just gonna be one of those
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s1lverwren/pseuds/s1lverwren
Summary: you had always lived a little on the reckless side.set during season 8, where you came on the team instead of blake.
Kudos: 11





	five times the team thought they lost you, and the one time they did.

**Author's Note:**

> never written reader insert before, so honest opinions on this would be appreciated! tumblr saw it first.

Aaron Hotchner knew that all you wanted to do was feel like you were capable of belonging in their company. He understood completely as even he was once in your position- he knew how difficult it was to feel a sense of belonging in a team that had been together for years.

With studious eyes, he’d watched you on the plane to Vermont. Hands fidgeting, eyes skirting, leg bouncing. It was your first field case, and you were nervous. You had scanned the papers detailing the horrors of the case enough times to burn the words into your eyes. By the time the wheels touched down in Montpelier, you were on par with Reid.

He didn’t know how to tell you that you weren’t going to disappoint anyone. He didn’t know how to tell you that you didn’t have to worry about every little thing.

To your credit, you’d hit the ground running. The assignments were handed out on the jet as they always were, and you took yours with a smile and eyes sparkling with hope and unfulfilled promises. He’d paired Rossi with you, hoping that the man would pick up on your fears and talk them out of you.

Over the week, the sparkle in your eyes faded. You were young and, although incredibly capable, inexperienced in the field. You took the lack of evidence and leads as a defeat, punishing yourself with sleepless nights and self-deprecating comments.

The seventh morning of the case, Hotch had walked into the room the MPD had set up for you guys expecting an empty room. He was always the first to arrive, the last to leave. The sight of you resting your head on a stack of files had him stopping in his tracks. 

You had made a mess of the place. Papers were scattered over the room, your words scrawled into the margins. A second bulletin board had been dragged in, and you’d covered it with a mosaic of photos- the crime scenes, mugshots, victims. Cups and food wrappers surrounded you. The coffee pot was half empty and a mound of grounds heaped in the trash can.

You’d worked through the night once again.

Gently pulling the chair at the table out so as not to disturb you, Hotch sat down and pinched the file you were clutching in your hand. It was a sheet of times and purchases at local businesses with messy handwriting he vaguely recognized as yours etched into it.

Your notes were barely decipherable, although whether it was because of your exhaustion or your exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. It was enough of a task for him to read it, let alone try to pinpoint your mood. He was a profiler, not a psychic.

His chair squeaked on the tile floors as he scooted forwards. You began to stir, eyes fluttering open to meet Hotch’s apologetic ones.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted softly.

You just groaned and sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Hi,” you said through a yawn. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “Seven. Long night?”

Squinting at him, you shook your head. “Not long enough.” You stretched, tipping your chair back as you reached your arms out with a heavy sigh.

“I thought I told you to go to the hotel last night.”

You shot him a sheepish grin and stood up. A fast food wrapper crunched under your foot as you stood up. You wordlessly made your way into the bullpen, massaging your neck.

Hotch shook his head. He was more disappointed in himself than in you. You were doing what was unhealthy, yes, but you thought it was right. It was just his fault because he couldn’t stop you.

Footsteps sounded at the door, polished Italian leather following them. The air was soon filled with not only that of Hotch’s disappointment but Rossi’s too.

“L/n?” the older man asked after he took in the disarray of the room. 

Hotch gave a simple nod and continued staring down at your notes. You had found a pattern in a cash withdrawal from all of the victims and the same amount of money being spent at a restaurant downtown, all the day before and after the murders. 

“Damn,” Rossi muttered as he poured out the pot of coffee. “I hoped they would have gotten some sleep.”

He received a dubious look that he only shrugged off. The smell of fresh coffee soon floated into the air. A steaming cup was placed in front of Hotch, but he was interrupted by the thumping of rapidly approaching footsteps.

  
“Hey, Y/n,” Rossi greeted cheerily as you ran in. 

The folder was snatched from Hotch’s hands, and three others from the table were scooped into your arms. Cheeks flushed, breathing labored, hair askew, eyes wild, you were a mess. You didn’t look at either of your team mates, and you left the room just as quickly as you had entered it. 

Hotch and Rossi’s eyes met over the table, wordlessly asking the same question. 

The rest of the team eventually trickled in, questions of your whereabouts falling out of all of their mouths, but you did not return. Unanswered phone calls were made, the connotations of you, the one who picks up before the first ring finishes, not answering.

Hours passed, and you were still yet to be seen. Morgan had taken to pacing the floor, while JJ’s foot had begun to bounce and didn’t stop. Hotch, Rossi, and Reid were pouring over your notes, hoping to find some clue to what had sent you out in such a hurry, with Garcia on call, trying to do the same.

“Garcia!” Rossi frowned at a note you’d made. 

There was typing on the other end of the line before Garcia chimed, “Sir?”

“Can you pull up the records of the employees and members of the gyms our vics attended and see if there is any overlap? Narrow it down to just the women.”

“Sure!”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his colleague. “What is it, Dave?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know,” he shook his head and hit his hand against the sheet. “All five women were highly athletic, and they held memberships at three gyms between them. It’s possible that the unsub was someone there, a staff member or someone else working out.”

Morgan stopped pacing to look over Rossi’s shoulder. “I thought we already checked out the gym?”

“We did. But we only looked at the men. The purchases we think our unsub made is a house salad with champagne. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think many fit men would only order a salad and champagne if he had just worked up an appetite murdering women.”

JJ picked up the trail of thought before Rossi finished. “We thought these were crimes of opportunity. But if she thought that these women were more attractive than she was, more fit, she may have been jealous. It explains the personal touch of shooting them in the face.”

Hotch nodded and turned back to the phone set. “And I’d bet Y/n found our green-eyed shooter. Garcia, do you have anything?”

“I don’t know, sir! I have five hundred women who work and attend all of these gyms, you’ll have to narrow it down.”

“She is the same age as the victims, early to mid-twenties,” Reid leaned in. “Petite, too. Look at women who are under 130 pounds- a salad and champagne isn’t a lot of food.”

“That’s the target age for most members, Spencer. Still have one hundred and seventy women.”

“Look at women living in the comfort zone,” Rossi added. “She uses the gyms as her hunting ground and dumps the bodies around them, she’s a homer. She’s probably lived here her whole life.”

“Fifty-three!”

“If Y/n found her without the help of Garcia, she has to have records in this building.”

Morgan frowned. “So, we’re looking at women with records or women who work in the government.”

“Garcia?”

“Four! I have a… Jacquelyn Potts, busted on four counts of prostitution, released on bail five years ago.”

JJ shook her head. “It’s not her. Prostitution to murder? That’s a huge jump. And if she used to be a call girl, I don’t think she would murder other women over attention from men.”

“There's Miranda Wells who is a defense attorney for the state, Officer Maureen Ellis of the MPD, and another lawyer, Quincy Price.”

Morgan dug his shoulder into the doorframe. “Any of them have any complaints filed against them?”

“Maureen is clean, and…” furious clacking noises came through the speaker, “Quincy is, too. There was an allegation of Wells attacking a client six months ago, but the charges were dropped.”

“Can you get us more on Wells?” Reid asked, holding a hand out to Morgan, who was already grabbing his coat. “Why were the charges dropped?”

“She’s worked in defense since she graduated. The woman who she attacked claims Wells called her an “attention-seeking whore” and smacked her in the face.”

“Garcia, why were the charges dropped?” There was a heavy pause. “Garcia!”

“The victim turned up dead with five gunshot wounds. I’ll send you the address and tell you more on the way!” she called, but everyone was already gone. “Please let Y/n be okay.”

The sirens screamed and the world was a blur as they barrelled towards where they could only hope you would be. It was tense in the cars, all of the silent in anticipation of what they would find.

“Y/n is inexperienced.”

Rossi turned to face Morgan with a disapproving look. “They’re also incredibly talented. It’s all we can do to hope that that’s enough.”

The brakes squealed as they halted at the Wells house, surely leaving a mark on the asphalt. They jumped out of the SUV, hands on their belts as the team split around the small house. Hotch heard the crash of the door and Morgan’s shout of “FBI!” as he and JJ made their way to the back.

He looked back to the vest-clad blonde who nodded, and Hotch burst the door open to a scene he’d rather have never seen. 

You were standing with your gun shakily clutched between your two hands. A bright red splotch was seeping into the fabric of your jacket sleeve, and your knuckles, although white as they gripped onto the gun, were bruised and bloodied. 

“Oh,” a coy voice called as he and JJ made their way into the room, barrels trained on your target. “Your lackeys have arrived.”

“You’ve already done enough damage, Miranda,” you pleaded, your voice strained as if you had been yelling. “Just don’t make me shoot you.”

Hotch took a moment to survey the room and very quickly his eyes became caught on a lump on the floor. A body. Another victim lying in the doorway, so close, yet so far from safety. They were too late. 

The rest of the team stopped as they came upon the body. Morgan reached to check the pulse of the woman and shot an alarmed look at the unit chief. He flipped her over and applied pressure to her wounds, gesturing for Reid to do the same.

“ADA Wells, please. Lower your gun,” Hotch asked.  
Wells laughed wryly. “Why? So you can cuff me?” She gestured her weapon at you, losing her focus as she continued. “I work in the law, agent. I know what you are trying to do.”

JJ crept behind Hotch towards the tirading woman’s blind side as you stepped slightly towards Hotch. Rossi mirrored the former liaison. Before the lawyer could raise her gun back towards you, she was slammed into the wall, her gun pried from her hands. 

You collapsed against the wall- in relief or pain, that was unknown. Hotch rushed towards you, Morgan’s call for a bus filling his ears. An arm was raised to brush him off, but Hotch pushed past it.

“I’m okay,” you muttered, looking down at your wounds with heavy lidded eyes.

Hotch shook his head and threw your uninjured arm over his shoulders. A team of paramedics rushed in and took Morgan and Reid’s place, who came over to you. You leaned your head against Hotch’s sturdy shoulder and surveyed the scene.

“I thought you had gotten yourself killed," Morgan drawled.

You blinked slowly. “No, I’m okay. Really.”

“Denial won’t get you anywhere, L/n.”

A dim smile was the answer, your normal bright one dulled by the events that had unfolded before your very eyes. Hotch shot you an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

"We're a team, Y/n. Know that coming to us won't make you any less capable. This kind of stuff will only lead to bad things, okay?"

"Okay." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rest of the pieces will be posted as they are written!


End file.
